


How to know your place

by bookeater_otaku, Shiroyuki9



Series: BPRD Insolite Chronicles [3]
Category: Ghostbusters - All Media Types, Hellboy (Comics), Hellboy - All Media Types, Sanctuary (TV), Supernatural, Todd and the Book of Pure Evil
Genre: Gen, Humor, Slapstick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-19 17:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2396000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookeater_otaku/pseuds/bookeater_otaku, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiroyuki9/pseuds/Shiroyuki9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cautionary tale for future evil minions and the risk of ambitions. Notting like an epic failure to put your villain in place. Crossover between Hellboy, Ghostbuster, Todd and the book of pure evil, Supernatural and Sanctuary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to know your place

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: We don't own anything save fore the plot line *^_^*
> 
> First publish on Fanfiction.net on January 4th,2014  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9990764/1/How-to-know-your-place

**How to know your place**

 

               The crypt like hideout was damp, poorly lit and the general decoration is in enough bad taste for a bad ‘cliché’ B horror movie. So now, you have to understand how much such places are in high demands nowadays. I mean, do you know how difficult is it to find a decent hiding place for the forces of darkness in this economy? Gothic Castle for your chaotic knight army? All rented out and they probably took a 40 years payment plan, so let me tell you there’s no chance that one might suddenly open up on the market. 

 

               You are a drowned God from ages past? Good frigging luck if the sea you took your billion years nap in hasn’t dried up, and ended up as Phoenix, Arizona. I mean “Look at me. I am Hortok, Lord of the abysm and Suzerain of the peoples under the Wave! I rule over this park fountain and I command you to continue your offering of small coins and to stop throwing detergent in it or feel my wrath! Took me forever get all the bubble out and…”  See? What was once a good location can soon become a real estate nightmare. You constantly need to be on the lookout for sudden change like that in this business.

 

               A good lava spewing volcano for your Temple of Dooms? HA! Rarer than natural red hair on a Chinese. All the good spots have been taken ages ago. Oh sure, there are plenty of volcanos around the world, but unless you can breathe under water, your volcano is going to be on a remote tropical island with a small aboriginal tribe to terrorise, and most of the time you wouldn’t even have that. An important technical point when you want to summons your very own Vice-count of Hell and you don’t have the 1000 virgins to sacrifice he demands? Things can turn sour real fast.

 

               Look at the Seventh Witch circles of the Nightshade. They established themselves in Manhattan. Lots of potential for evil in Manhattan. But when the population exceeds the quadrillion per square inches, try to find a decent lair within the telluric band… They ended up in an out of price condo with an… brrrr… Art Deco look. Poor them, they were the one who had to host the last Sabbath… Everybody there was speaking behind their back about the horrendous decoration (not the good kind).... Ok, we always bitch behind each other’s back about everything; we are evil after all, but being reduced to that… what are we, teenagers?

 

               Someone wise once said: “Location, location, location!” If it continues like this we will need to hide the Hoards in warehouses like some common street gang. The forces of evil have it tough let me tell you. That’s why as the high priest of an obscure ancient race of creature that has once ruled the earth (or so we claim anyway), I was rather satisfied with our fresh new hideout. It was spacious enough for all the monsters, creature and denizens of the dark that were gathering under our banner. They were a bunch of weak minded fools and easily manipulated. It was the task trusted to me by the Dark General to make sure that the rabbles would follow us blindly. It is important that the cannon fodder and meat shields don’t ask too many questions when the time comes.

 

               It was time for my teaching of the night and I, the high priest, took up my place on the podium. ‘What was he going to talk about today?’ were they probably wondering. Yesterday the speech was about devotion… the day before that was about how great the General is and his cause… and before that was the talk about how it was a good idea to give their money to the trust fund with 1.5% interest…  or was it the mandatory seminar about personal hygiene? No, no that was on Sunday…

 

               As the minions were beginning to approach my location and upon seeing some of the ugliest face of the congregation (a feat not so easily achieved mind you) I remembered a story that would be perfect to nip in the bud of any little bit of ambitions they could harbour. I took a deep breath and prepared my ‘storyteller’s voice’ as I like to call it. It is a deep, grave and ominous voice that takes full advantage of the crypt eco. It also has a certain bitterness to it, smoothed by a condescending tone like a pound of butter on asparagus. I am quite proud of it.

 

               “ **Gather around my fellow creatures of Darkness.** **Listen to my words and let them enrich your mind, so that the seeds of wisdom may grow. Tonight, we will learn about GREATNESS… Such a simple word for such** **complex concept. We all dream of it at some point… Covet it… Desire it… And yet, so few ever achieve it or can even pretend to have a small glimpse of it. And for each who triumph, a thousand falls.”**

**“Then it raises the question: Is GREATNESS is predetermined by Destiny? ...YES. Is greatness can be trust upon the likes of you? …Sometimes. Or can it be achieved by the sweat of your brow? …WELL, IT’S NOT, YOU BUNCH OF LOWER LIFE FORMS!!! You achieved nothing so far and it’s not about to change let me tell you that! And this is why you have joined US, this is why you recognise our General as your Lord! You can tell that HE’s a superior being and that WE are** (‘we’ not including ‘I’ in this case) **under his service because WE know it is OUR duty to support HIS great cause!!”**

Taking a breath, I let my words hang in space after reeling up the audience. Let them be offended, my little story will bring them down and they will realise what happen when you try to elevate yourself above your position. Now, with a calmer voice I speak again: **“Let me tell you the tale of one such as you who tried to rise above his calling. Such a foolish attempt, that even the UNIVERSE ITSELF judged good to punish him. Hear me out and learn of what happens when it not your place to be the main villain in a story:…”**

 

Hhhhhhhhhh

              

The ritual was well under way. The five sided chamber with its five closed doors reverberated the voice the sole chanter standing in the middle. Placed around a pentagram, black dripping candles poorly lit the room … and it probably was better that way. The chanting creature was for a lack of appropriate words atrociously ugly. A face that would make a seasoned garbage man heaves at the mere site of it. He was from one actually…

 

               **“What!? No! Not the garbage man, damn it! From the garbage itself”**

 

               In fact, his earliest memories are from living in garbage. (If he could remember at all, that is; years of alcohol and drug abuse left his brain like a cauldron in a shooting range.)

 

               In order to preserve what little “dignity” he has left, he shall remain nameless. So the ‘bastard’, which he was in every sense of the word, was result of two hybrids mating who were themselves descendant of hybrids. He had the genes of at least six different species somehow held together by the cellular equivalent of duct tape. Quite the mix up he was, even the chimeras found him an odd looking one.

 

               He barely lived on the margin of society, where even the bottom of the barrel is still above him. He tried to live an honest life, doing an honest job like: mercenary, hit man, cut throat, thief, drug dealer, politician and the less be said about his attempt at prostitution the better ( **Eurkg, I’ll never get used to the taste of bile** ).

 

               He even tried to sell his body to science and science didn’t want anything to do with him. He was back leeching from the garbage, drifting from one place to another … Well, in all honesty he was kicked out of every place and ended up in the last bastion of our kind: the town of Crowley Heights. And it was there that he had a faithful meeting with destiny. While rummaging through the garbage behind the high school he found something marvellous, something incredible; HE … HAD FOUND … THE BOOK … OF … PURE EVIIIIL!!

 

               In the fabled book, a volume so powerful and complex that he could not comprehend the inner working of this prestigious artefact, he found the instruction for a ritual. A spell of such magnitude, that it would change the game of good and evil for all of eternity. And here he made his gravest mistake … he kept the Book for himself, instead of bringing it to competent authorities. In hands such as our Lord, the Book would have permitted us to rule the world and beyond. But the Bastard had other ideas, he wanted to be more than he was. He saw the Book has a chance to elevate himself, to be something else, something grand, something powerful…

              

So he escaped the town with the coveted book and his uneven feet took him toward a suitable place to prepare for the ritual, like they were guided. He then set to find all the materials needed. The task took him sometime but he finished just when the season would be favorable. And when the solstice came, he was ready.

              

He psalmed. He chanted. He recited words that had no meaning to him. The ceremony was long and complex but even with his mediocre skills and meagre talents, he struggled on. It was going to be grandiose! He felt it deep in his lousy bones. And finally, as the ritual reached its climax, Fate reared its ugly head.

 

               Behind him, larges heavy double doors slammed open crashing on the wall like charging bulls leaving them embedded in the stones. Interrupted in the middle of a particularly tongue-twisting string of syllables, the sad sack of pus almost swallowed his own tongue at the deafening sound. He whirled around ready to face the interloper … and there standing in the doorway was … Hellboy, hunter of his kind and traitor to his kin.

 

               The hulking red giant was holding in his left hand something that was more akin to a canon than a gun. His right hand was empty … but it didn’t really matter for it was made of stone. Yes, it was the prophesized RIGHT HAND OF DOOM!

 

               For any reasonable minded bum playing evil this would be the moment they soiled their undergarment and start begging for forgiveness. Or at the very least pretend that they weren’t in control of their actions so that hopefully the other guy wouldn’t hit you too much. A proven tactic he used often used before … but not this time. For, believe it or not, the Moron could not see that he was staring death in the face and was convinced that it was his moment of glory! He was so near success, a tiny step away from the finish line that he couldn’t see himself failing as often did before.

 

               By trying to be more than he was, he had totally forgotten that HE WAS AN ABJECT FAILURE WHO MESSED EVERYTHING IN IS LIFE AND EVERYBODY ELSE’S!!!

 

**“Humf, humf, pfffff … Yes, yes, I’m ok, I just got a little … um, emotional with my story telling.”**

 

               So what did he do? He started gloating like a villain from a Saturday morning cartoon of the ‘80s. And so he threw up his chest the best he could (which despite he’s best effort still manage to look concave) and began to speak with his raspy voice, punctuated by some silent wheezing, both the result of years of chain smoking and drinking like a pierced barrel.

 

               “Hellboy,” if he would have been ‘Dr. No’ he would have said ‘Mister Bond’ in the same fashion. “Fitting for you to be the one sent to stop me. Soon I shall take your place as ruler of this rotten world. With the Book, I shall transform this pathetic little planet into a magnificent Hell where everything and everybody will burn. And your crown of flame shall rest upon my brow!”

 

               “Heh, you can have the crown if you wish, it’ll keep your head warm in jail.”Hellboy pointed his weapon at the seemingly trapped individual.

 

               But the obstinate bottom feeder was prepared. He only had three words to say that he learnt from the Book to protect himself from otherworldly threat. So, with a yellow and crooked smirk he replied: “Then hear this : Klaatu Verata Nict ***BangBangBangBang*** ”

 

               He stopped abruptly is incantation, interrupted by the gun fire still resonating in the five walled room. Only that … it wasn’t the demon that fired. Getting out of his momentary cardiac arrest stupor, he allowed himself a small fraction of a second to check if he didn’t really acquired a few new holes before looking over his left shoulder, where the shots were coming from.

 

               The door flew open by the force of a black steel toed boot, what was left of the lock, shot to death, landed across the room.

 

               “Dean, it wasn’t even locked.”

 

               “Shut it, you’re cramping my style.”

 

               With great flurry, cocking his shotgun, a male figure entered the room: “OK, FREEZE YOU SCUMBAG”

 

               Silence reigned in the chamber when a second, taller, brown haired man followed with a pistol in his hands. He looked around, calmly observing the situation. Both men wore jeans, T-shirts and jacket. Uncertainly, the tall one spoke to the other man: “Hum … I think you’re doing it wrong.”

 

               Hellboy looked at the pair with a very deadpanned look on his face and pointed with his free hand toward the center of the pentagon, where the real threat was left somewhat indignant and quite hurt of being ignored by the new arrivals.

 

               That shotgun should be aimed at him, damn it.

 

               But the humans missed that and kept their focus on the big guy. “Dean, that’s Hellboy, the government mandated hunter.”

 

               “That’s paranormal investigator. And you guys must be Sam and Dean Winchester?”

 

               “Wow, heard that Sam, we’re celebrities.”

 

               ‘The stupid’ could not contain himself any longer: “Yes, you are known through the land, you the wretched Winchester brothers who pursued our kind restlessly. But your stroke of luck end here, nor you or Hellboy have the power to stop ME! Mwahahahaha!!!!!”

 

               “… Soooo… who’s the larva?” inquired Sam.

 

               The only answer he got from Hellboy was a roll of the eyes and a shrug of the shoulders that summed up the whole situation. When a simple gesture like that could tell a story of countless nights chasing things far scarier than they, of time wasted in the rain standing over graves with a stake, scars that drew road maps all over their body… a shrug about the monsters of the week… just another notch in the gun handle… when you realise that you can understand that movement so well because they see it every day in the mirror when they ask themselves why the hell are they doing this...

 

               **“These boys are in need of a vacation… AND we are going to give them a permanent one. …so where was I, ? Oh, yes …”**

 

               “Don’t know, don’t care but he’s getting brought in for questioning,” replied Hellboy. “So as they say, move along, there’s nothing to see.”

 

               Our ‘little error of nature’ wasn’t going to let himself be walked over in such way. “Hey, wait a minute, I’m not …”

 

               “What?!” snapped Dean, completely ignoring the ‘would be conqueror’. “And then what, huh? You gonna put him in jail and he’ll do licence plates ‘til he’s released for good behavior? No way man, you know he’s going to do it all over again.”

 

               “At least, I’m doing real work here. We need to find out where he found the book and what he plans to do with it.”

 

               “Who cares?!” barked Dean, “Let’s just waste it, put the darn book in a vat of holy water and then everybody goes home!”   

 

               Being ignored wasn’t sitting to well with our reject of nature and he was growing more and more frustrated. He was fuming “Listen here, I’m…!!!”

 

               Only to be interrupted again by a dramatic entrance. Massive doors swung open and crashed loudly into the walls. Standing in the doorway was a young blond woman dressed in leather, armed to the teeth and was really too gung-ho about all this. She was immediately passed by a more mature brown haired woman dressed in a similar fashion. She walked in as she owned the place, carrying herself with a certain grace and elegance that commanded respect.

 

               “You will do no such thing!” she ordered, “This abnormal is now under the protection of the Sanctuary.”

 

               “Oh great, who invited Green Peace.” muttered Hellboy.

 

               As for the ‘pimple on the face of Life’, he didn’t even bother to turn to Hellboy’s right to look at the new arrival. Instead he was staring a point far away on the horizon right above Sam’s left ear mumbling: “Yes, yes, enter. We have place for everyone. This place is like a freaking windmill anyway. Would you like a cup of tea? I’m sure you…” the ranting continued while the others were focusing on the women who just barged in.

 

               “I don’t know who you are toots but it’s our prey! So back off!”

 

               Sam put a hand on is hand on his brother’s shoulder in a more or less failed attempt to calm him but mostly to stop a rant that could have gone on for hours.

 

               “What my brother was trying to say was: Who are you, who do you work for and what do you mean by ‘under the protection of the Sanctuary’?” 

 

               The blond woman replied with a smirk: “Don’t worry, I speak ‘idiot’ fluently.”

 

               Seeing that the one called Dean was about to burst a vein, Hellboy decided to fill in the blank before the situation could degenerate. “Their names are Helen and Ashley Magnus. Dr. Magnus is the head of the Sanctuary Network, a private organisation dedicated to the protection and understanding of creatures that are perceived as abnormal, paranormal, monstrous or legendary. We work with them from time to time.”

 

               “Ooh, HB you learned your text well.”

 

               “Thank you, Ashley” he replied not even fazed by the sarcastic remark before adding, “But the guys are right. What are you doing here Helen? I thought we had a deal, the BPRD turn a blind eye toward some of your shadier dealing and you don’t put your nose in our investigations. Oh, and you just waltz into a crime scene.”

 

               “I can not let you take him away, he’s is far too valuable for my research. He’s the last descendent of a now extinct race of unicorn and those last strains of DNA are key in the cure for a deadly degenerative disease.”

 

               “I see”, said Hellboy, “it does seem like something you guys would do but I think you might end up making your patients more sick than they already are if you use… this.” He looked disgusted.

 

               Letting out sigh of discouragement, the leader the Sanctuary Network answered: “I don’t really have a choice in the matter and there are times were one must scrape the bottom of the drawer.”

 

               On their side of the room, the Winchester brothers were listening baffled by the exchange. An incredulous Sam exclaimed: “A-a unicorn!? Really?” eying the creature in the center of the room, who’s equally baffled by the unexpected revelation about himself.

 

               Ashley, still in a standoff with Dean, felt the need to explain. Partially because she had similar disbelief when she first heard of the creature’s pedigree and also because she did find the answer funny in its own cruel twisted way. “It’s on his mother’s side, his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-mother if I remember correctly.”

 

               “That explain why he looks a bit horsey.” scoffed Dean.

 

               Hellboy cut back in: “Well, I’m sure you got a med kit somewhere, just take a syringe and draw some blood…”

 

               “I’m afraid I need more than just ‘draw some blood’; I also need samples of skin, hair, muscle, marrow … well everything.”

 

               “Don’t you have a few Succubi on your payroll? These guys are like a genetics’ lab on legs, could one of them …”

 

               “Even they cannot work miracles. This is why need I him more or less intact.”

 

               At this point our wannabe chimera ( **“Sorry, but even the most talented storyteller can run out of insults”** ) began sweating. If he didn’t turn things around fast there wouldn’t be enough left of him to make a candle. He just needed to say three little words and they would be toast.

 

               “Klaat…”

 

               He barely had the time to say his first syllable when a distinctive electrical whir cut over the heated discussion, effectively making everyone quiet down in hope of identifying the sound and its provenance. As the as the noise grew louder it was joined by more and more of its compatriots and it was determined that it came from the door between Hellboy and the Winchester.

 

               It took a fraction of a second before for Hellboy and the Sanctuary duo to react and cried: “DUCK!”

 

               The door exploded.

 

               No, more like it was obliterated in millions of super-heated wood chips by a light show consisting of four large red lasers beam who sounded like this: BmpzzzzzZZZZZZZzzzzzzZZZZzzz.

 

               It ended as abruptly as it began. The beams were cut off, the sound was reduced to a soft hum coming from the gaping entrance accompanied by some crackles from what’s left of the door pieces cooling down.

 

               Four figures in beige jumpsuit walked into the room side by side, equipped with high-tech back pack connected to the proton gun in their hands.

 

               The second guy to the right exclaimed: “Geez Ray, don’t you think it was a bit too much?”

 

               Not that anyone noticed since they were busy blinking away the spots in their eyes and coughing the smoke.

 

               But our ( **“Unfortunately.”** ) natural selection reject was standing in the spot he was before the explosion, straight as an ‘I’ ( **“The only time in his life he was any kind of straight.”** ). He was the one who received the brute force of the deflagration but the only sign of it was the multiple singes all over his face and the dying flames on his clothes and what passes for his hair ( **“You see! Even fire didn’t want to touch him. Far too disgusting to burn.”** ). He stood there, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying say something, eyes bloodshot.

 

               “… T… Th… Th… THERE! IS! A! FUCKING! DOOR! HANDLE!!!”                       

 

               He was screeching in a high note at the last bunch of intruders. You could feel the multiple exclamation points in his speech, a fairly good indication of a stressed mental state.

 

               Nonplusses by the outburst of his co-worker, “Hum, guys I think we just crashed a party,” Ray stated.

 

               “Oh no... I hope it’s not like that Bar Mitzvah, Janine still getting complaints for that,” replied the one named Zeddmore.

 

               “That is very unlikely given the present circumstance,” interjected Egon, “My theory is, even if it’s statically improbable, that we all found the same paranormal anomaly.”

 

               “Helen, Suzan! How nice to see you both. HB! What a surprise! Are we still up for poker night on Friday?” exclaimed Venkman, always eager to look important.

 

               The protonpack, the beige jumpsuit, the no-ghost sign on the shoulder... the Ghostbusters were in the house baby! **“*Ahem*! Sorry about that.”**

 

               “Oh great, the four stooges are there.” Muttered Helen, while picking herself up from the floor.

 

               Her daughter, who was also getting up, was miffed. “The name’s Ashley.” She stated drably. She prided herself on leaving an impression on those she met, at least enough of an impression so that they remember her name. By fear preferably.

 

               Venkman took it in stride and followed her lead with a cocky smile: “Sorry sweetie, I confused you with the young date I had last night. She kinda looked like you.” He finished wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

 

               Hellboy heard the comment but choose to stay out of it, if Venkman was an incorrigible flirt and didn’t know when he was playing with fire, that wasn’t his problem. So he decided on the sensible thing to do and focused on getting back to his feet and removing the dust and splinters off his coat.

 

               “Hi guys... hum, yeah, I’m still on for Friday and don’t forget the nachos this time. So did someone hire you, or...?” he asked leaving the question in suspension.

 

               On their side of the room the Winchester fared as well from the blast as it was expected and were left to pick themselves up. Sam looked like he was torn between shooting back in retaliation or asking where he could get one of those.

 

               Dean on the other hand had recognised the intruders and was looking at the new group with the interest of a kid who just discovered that Christmas was coming earlier this year. “Sam, Sam! Look It’s them!” he whisper to his brother in an evident outburst of fanboyism.

 

               Rolling his eyes at Dean exuberance Sam had the discretion of screaming like a fangirl on the inside. Deep... deep inside. Instead he concentrated on the oddity of the situation. “...hum, let me guess you’re here because you need ugly over there to save the world or something?”

 

               At that the foursome had an embarrassed look. “Euh, well...” began Ray “...we’re always up and ready to save the world, aren’t we guys?!” and ended with a somewhat suspicious nervous laugh.

 

               Egon tried to shed some light: “The psychometric energy emitted is causing a metamorphosis in the quantic field of the ectoenergy contained in the troposphere thus creating major disturbance on a parapsychic level. Fascinating really.”

 

               Ray being the only one in the room who really understood Egon’s techno babble, merely nodded in agreement.

 

               “Beside the giant stationary hurricane with the purple and orange clouds was kind of a big clue,” added Peter, “and this place is right in the eye of the storm, it’s not that hard to find.”

 

               “Yeah, and there were others signs in the area that were spooking the locals. Milk turning to blood, weird apparitions in the mirrors, bird flying backward, Dolly Parton making a comeback… you know, the usual sign of the apocalypse. So the surrounding municipalities got together and called us.” as usual, one can count on Winston actually give an answer that both make sense and is understandable.

 

               “And since we are not exclusive to the Manhattan area... we just generally add a long distance fee.” and these were Venkman's two bit of salt.

 

               The situation being was it was, you could count on the seriousness and the 'on the job' attitude of Sam Winchester to point out the elephant in the room, albeit an horribly disfigured one. “It's all good and well but still doesn't the problem on who gets first dib on ‘Ugly’ here.” Everyone snapped their weapons back toward the unfortunate villain wannabe.

 

               Which for ‘It’, the situation was worsening by the minute and it was beginning to slowly sink in into it thick skull. “Klaatu ...” was whispered almost politely, unsure whether or not it was safe to continue.

 

               Ignoring the creature unintelligent babbling, the various factions were eyeing each other wondering who would open the debate. And since fortune favors the bold, Peter Venkman took the opportunity.

 

               “Well, now that we're here, you can leave it to us professionals. Thank you for your help, we're going to take if from here. Don't worry, I'll make sure that your contribution is noted somewhere.” he said with his trademark business smile.

 

               “Hey, that's my line” interjected both Hellboy and Ashley.

 

               “Klaatu...”

 

               “What!? Wait a minute here!” cut Dean, “We've been on the trail of this sucker for a week now, we got priority... you guys only got the contract something like 24 h ago.” he pointed out as a matter of fact. He continued with a smirk, “We'll dispose of it in a correct manner and we'll be sure to take your expertise into consideration.” Apparently, being looked down doesn't suits well with the Winchester, even if it's from the Ghostsbusters.

 

               “Klaatu...”

 

               Before anyone could continue Hellboy cut in, “Hey! Hey! Guys! Official government business here!” he pointed out, waving his badge. “I think I got precedence over any civilian organization.”

 

               “Pfff, count on a blue collar to wave paper at you,” commented snidely Ashley earning herself a glare from Hellboy.

 

               Helen took the pause to make her case, “We are on a humanitarian mission and the existence of an entire species is at stake. I am sure you all understand that we need to depart with the subject.”

 

               “Klaatu...”

 

               “And let a criminal go?” exclaimed Sam.

 

               “With what's happenin' outside, too risky.” seemed to agree Hellboy.

 

               “Exactly, if...” “We got a contract that...” “We got here before you did, get in line!” “I was here first!” “You are an incompetent...!” “Why you!...” “...!”

 

               What was a heavy argumentation soon became a cacophony.

 

               “Klaa...” It was impossible to place a word in with all this bickering and what was probably the lamest 'villain of the week' in existence was getting more and more worried about the impending shoot out. That and the lack of strategic cover the chamber he chose for his invocation was suffering. At this point, praying for some sort of divine intervention was the foremost thing on his mind.

 

               The universe didn't disappoint. Less spectacular than the previous break-in, the judge would still give the mention of 'good efforts' on how the last set of doors suddenly opened dramatically, letting a group of four misfit teenagers barge in.

 

               The one who seemed to be the leader, a lanky teenager with long hair and wearing a metal band t-shirt, was brandishing a huge sword and bellowing his battle cry, “Hand over the book! You WOAH ...!” the last exclamation was a reaction to the large amount of weapons of various calibers pointed his way. His companions also put on the breaks.

 

               The **(“LAME!”)** event's perpetrator immediately recognised the interlopers and just threw his arms in the air and looked up at the ceiling in a crude gesture of total exasperation, blowing whoever was up there and their crappy sense of humour.

 

Yes, for the ‘lamest villain ever’ this was the icing on the crap cake. Those kids from Crowley Heights were infamous in certain circles for theirs incessant meddling in the Book of Pure Evil affairs.

 

               **“Stupid meddling kids with their stupid dog... what? Uhn, oh yeah, wrong group... Eh-hem… Sorry getting a bit mix up in bad memories here... anyway, where was I...? Oh, yeah the teenagers and the Book.”**

 

               After a few second of stupor, “Oh great, way to go Todd. Bringing a sword to a gun fight.” said the tall brunette called Jenny.

 

               The aforementioned Todd, still facing the ‘danger’ he whisper harshly, “Well at least I didn’t came here empty handed.”

 

               The girl on the far left, a small nerdish one with long red hair and glasses, seemed far more concerned by all the other weapons in the room and the volatility of the situation. “Guys, not now...” she cut in nervously, like someone sitting on a powder keg holding an inextinguishable match.

 

               The last one of the new arrivals was short, fat, he also seemed to be an aficionado metal group t-shirt and sported some kind of cybernetic prosthesis on his left forearm which he was trying to point at every else in the room, his right hand was positioned over the keypad on top.

 

               He exclaimed to the red head beside him, “Don’t worry Hannah, I’ll protect you!”. Hannah rolled her eyes at the brave declaration.

 

               “Curtis, honey, I don’t think you can do much here...”

 

               “Don’t worry, I got this.” Curtis replied to the group raising his arms in a sign of peace, before making the ‘devil horn’ with both his hands and exclaimed to Hellboy in particular, “Hail Satan! We came *SLAP*... Ow, what gives guys!?”. What was given was a monumental triple slap to the back of his head courtesy of his friends.

 

               Todd, the apparent leader with the eternal slouch, no matter the circumstances, cut in “Hum, don’t listen to him, we’re just...”. Half the room cocked their weapons in expectation of the answer, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “*Gulp* we... we’ll just be on our way now. We’ll just pick THE BOOK!!!” the nervousness was replaced by panic, catching almost everyone by surprise “THE BOOK, IT’S GETTING WAY! CATCH IT!”

 

               Everybody turned their eyes toward the center of the room. The Book of Pure Evil used the fact that everyone’s attention was elsewhere to flap its cover in an attempt to fly away.

 

               What followed was one of History most maddest scramble. Every single person attempted to catch the demonic tome. Who, for the first time, didn’t seem to be able to make a clean exit.

 

               Seeing his ticket to evildom slipping from his grasp, the idiot of service made a desperate leap to catch the Book but it got knocked from his greasy fingers by Jenny who tackled him like a footballer.

 

               Hellboy moved eerily fast for someone of his mass but only managed to swat the Book back into the room with his massive right hand of doom when it tried to get pass him.

 

               Dean and Winston dashed after it, getting pass Hannah who was helping Jenny, while Todd took a swing with his sword and batted the Book away.

 

               Ray and Egon took pot shot at the Book every time it tried to get some height. They were joined by Sam who was letting the bullets fly.

 

               The Book took a dive in the hope that they wouldn’t try to shoot in the crowd only to end up in the trajectory of a charging Hellboy flanked by Venkman.

 

It veered left to pass between Helen and Jenny who were occupied with the nauseating face creature, only to put on the breaks when Ashley leaped in front of it using Hellboy’s back as a springboard. But she got shoved away by a stumbling Hannah.

 

               Then Dean missed it by a hair, while Hellboy tried to nail it to the floor with his boot.

 

               The Book seek refuge in the air once more only to be grabbed by Curtis‘ hand who he had shot from across the room his gauntlet like a hookshot. Unfortunately, before he could reel back, the metal hand got shot by mistake by Ray who immediately cried “Sorry!”

 

               But that shot was the idea that unified the group and everybody that were able began to shoot at the aforementioned object, who was now dodging like its life counted on it.

 

               It weaved around like a mad hummingbird, in-between four unrelenting proton streams bullets of different calibers, a metal hand hooked on a cable that tried to nab it repetitively and every other object not nailed down on the floor was thrown at it. A fly would have gotten sick on such a flight path.

 

               Finally it got grazed by one of the proton stream and seemed struck by a seizure, it began to fall... right into the hand of the world must stupid villain who brandished it and seeing his last chance cried with all of his pathetic heart: “KLATTU VERATA NICT-oh-oh.” He said as he saw the shadow of a living wall dogpilling him like he was a rugby ball.

 

               In the center of the room, a mountain of groaning, squirming flesh and tangled limbs that were trying to get up. Unfortunately, Hellboy was on the very top squishing everybody else. Underneath it all, the Book singed, battered and with a few new holes was worming Its way out.

 

               Eventually it got free and managed to weakly flap away with a limp.

 

               At the very bottom of the pile one pathetic villain was crying his missed chance, his only opportunity he ever had at greatness.

 

HBHBHBHBHBHBHB

 

               “ **And now my brethrens, you know the tales of this miserable shabby wreck who tried to rise above his given station. He failed in the most pathetic fashion not because of talents, skills, conditions or circumstance but because he thought he could raises above the true chosen one, our GENERAL! The Heavens above and the Instances bellow judged him and punished him in the most fitting way. Our enemy fell on him like a ... a ... Wait, what’s that sound..? Is that ... Who’s laughing!?** ”

 

               ‘I don’t believe this! One of my best speeches in weeks and they laugh! Oh they’ll get something to laugh about.’

 

               “ **Who dares!? Do you think the Teachings are matter of merriment** (oh good, I don’t use that one often) **? What do you think happen to those who defy it? DIVINE punishment just like that moron in the story! I...!”**

 

               In the crowd the snickering continued, albeit a bit louder.

 

               ‘What in Bloody Hell!? And they won’t stop! I’ll show those buffoons. Where  are they ... Damn those low lights! Those torches behind me don’t help much either! “It’s for the dramatic and obscure atmosphere” I said. You can’t even take three steps without stepping into something you don’t want to see! Uhg… How do you want me to identify the infidels like that? Huh?’. Me and my good ideas.

 

               ‘I can’t work in these conditions.’

 

               ‘And who’s ideas was it again to dressed them in identical monk robes with deep dark hood? “It’s to minimize individuality” they said, “Habits are cheaper bought in bulk”, “There are budget cuts”, yap yap yap. Idiot’s the lots of them. Next meeting I am putting back on the table my motion to have Roman legionnaire uniforms. Now those had class and were utilitarian.’

 

               ‘Oh! There you are bozo.’

 

               **“You! No, not you, him! No, not you, get out of the way! Yes! You! You mock the Teaching! Reveal yourself! I see your shoulder shaking. And you stop elbowing him! He obviously can’t help himself so let him speak, for it’s his only chance of redemption.”** I finished darkly.

 

               The figure, a hunchback apparently, could not even contain his laughter in front of me anymore. Flagellation would be too good for him, I’ll make them rub salt in the wounds.

 

               “Hahahaha… sorry guys. I *snickers* couldn’t hold back anymore... heeheehee ... I mean he... haha... and then he... bwahahahahahahaha.”

 

               ‘I will make him hang from the rafter by his toes!!! Oh, great now the other hunchbacks are laughing too. I... euh, did we have four hunchbacks before?’

 

               A figure on the other side of the crowd who was sitting got up, also guffawing with the others. “I know! I could barely contain myself.” He told the hunchbacks who were...  straitening their back? And who was that with the British accent? A... woman?

 

               “HA, HA, HA, HA!” the bellowing laugh belonged to another hooded characters that got out from behind a pillar. He’s really tall compared to the others, almost giant. What was someone like that doing in the minions corps?

 

               Several other figures were laughing in the crowd, like they were possessed. What the hell is happening?

 

               **“SILENCE! You will pay for this affront! Didn’t you listen to a single word I said!? Didn’t you listen to the story!?”**

 

               It was like putting oil on a fire, the guffaw double, they were almost horse laughing in my face. There was a big joke and I had the feeling that I was the butt of it.

 

               One of them calmed enough and spoke to me: “Oh yeah, we listened and that why it’s so funny.”

 

               I am now totally perplexed, what do they...

 

               Another duo of identical figures, in the middle of a group that I knew were goblins, were supporting each other to not fall so much they were laughing. So much that whatever they had under their robes was spilling onto the ground. Is that a grenade?

 

               By now, now most of the followers who weren’t affected by the strange phenomenon were distancing themselves from the group obviously stricken by dementia, which were now regrouping themselves at the center, still merrily laughing. I counted... six, nine... yes, nine offenders. I now had a clear line of sight, the others in the rooms kept distancing themselves not wanting to suffer my wrath by association.

 

               But still I couldn’t identify them and I knew the roster practically by heart... Were they new recruits that I wasn’t made aware of?

 

               The laughter died down, a snicker or two subsisted and while I was at the height of my furry, they began to talk among themselves.

 

               “For someone who proclaims to be so ‘enlighten’ they are kind of dumb, no?” the voice sounded male and young to me. From his robe he pulled an impressive shotgun (‘How the hell he was hiding that!?’)

 

               A feminine voice full of cockiness replied while pulling a pair of sub-machine gun from the sleeves. (‘WHAAT!’): “You have no idea! But still, the place gets swipe every six month or so.  They never seem to check what happened to the previous owner.”

 

               “One must not be too picky in this business I guess,” said the British accented woman from before, she too extracted a rifle from the confine of her garment (‘I don’t like this...’)

 

               The really tall, hulking figure with the deep laugh and equally deep voice was now holding with his red hand what looked like a revolver shaped hand canon. (‘Red...skin...?’) “But for the guy to tell that story when we’re all here? What are the chances?”

 

               It was now the turn of the duo, one of them had a hand gun “I don’t know but it’s almost poetic.” “Yeah, it’s like karma or something.” Reply the other. (‘I’m sweating bullets here...’)

 

               One of the false hunchback exclaim: “You know what they say!” a click and whirling electronic noise echoed in the room. 

 

(‘Oh, you gotta...’)

 

               “Don’t wish upon the other...” the next in line activated something too and the same high pitch noise joined the first

 

(‘...be shitting...’)

 

               “... what you don’t wish upon yourself.”, and another one joined the noise...

 

 (‘...me!!’)

 

               And the last one activated something that added to the mysterious noise joining the trio, now a quartet. “You should really know your place better.”, he advised.

 

               And the hoods dropped.

 

HBHBHBHBHBHBHBHB

 

               “ **...and that’s how I ended up in the BPRD prison**.” I finished regaling my new cellmate of my woeful tale.

 

               His back was turn to me and I had yet to see his face. I did not receive the reaction I was expecting from my virtuous storytelling ability. In fact he seemed rather... bothered from it and acted as if I was speaking his ears off all that time.

 

               Preposterous. He was probably just one of those silent, taciturn type of prisoners I heard about. Maybe if I engage the conversation from another angle: “ **And what about you, what are you in for?** ”

 

               At that, the strange character (‘in my humble opinion’), got up from his bunk still facing away from me. “Me?” he answered, clearly angry about something, “I found the Book of Pure Evil.”

 

               He was holding a shiv.

**Author's Note:**

> Bookeater:  
> Hello everyone! It’s been a while since we published anything. This time, I attempted a more slapstick approaches to the humor and this was also my first try at a multi-crossover. 
> 
> Also the whole story is some kind of joke about the five different facets in the Evil eradication business. The governmental (Hellboy), the private sector (Sanctuary), the commercial (Ghostbusters), the independent (Supernatural) and the amateurs (Todd and the Book of Pure Evil).
> 
> Hope you liked it. Leave a comment!
> 
>  
> 
> Shiroyuki :  
> Hi Everyboddy it’s been a while. *^_^*
> 
> We came with this little thing while trying to get our boys out of ’Pyroland’ (A place to belong, chapter 8) … and everybody who ever had a brainstorming session will know that a lot of crazy stuff can come up.
> 
> And this was one of them.
> 
> PS. I would like to give a big thanks to AughraOfEarth even though he claim to be “just playing a nitpicking stand-in for our beta reader” who now had the time to take a look.


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